She left the clothes he bought her. Pete dumped them out in the street and watched cars drive over them.
11
(Washington, D.C., 12/18/58)
“To say that I am furious belittles the concept of fury. To say that I consider your actions outrageous demeans the notion of outrage.”
Mr. Hoover paused. The pillow on his chair made him tower over two tall men.
Kemper looked at Littell. They sat flush in front of Hoover’s desk.
Littell said, “I understand your position, Sir.”
Hoover patted his lips with a handkerchief. “I do not believe you. And I do not rate the value of objective awareness nearly as high as I rate the virtue of loyalty.”
Littell said, “I acted impetuously, Sir. I apologize for that.”
“‘Impetuous’ describes your attempt to contact Mr. Boyd and foist your preposterous Bondurant suspicions on him and Robert Kennedy. ‘Duplicitous’ and ‘treacherous’ describe your unauthorized flight to Los Angeles to uproot an official Bureau operalion.”
“I considered Bondurant a murder suspect, Sir. I thought that he had implemented a piggyback on the surveillance equipment that Mr. Boyd and I had installed, and I was correct.”
Hoover said nothing. Kemper knew he’d let the silence build.
The operation blew from two flanks. Bondurant’s girlfriend tipped Bobby to a smear piece; Ward logicked out the Kirpaski hit himself. That logic held a certain validity: Pete was in Miami concurrent with Roland.
Hoover fondled a paperweight. “Is murder a Federal offense, Mr. Littell?”
“No, Sir.”
“Are Robert Kennedy and the McClellan Committee direct rivals of the Bureau?”
“I don’t consider them that, Sir.”
“Then you are a confused and naive man, which your recent actions more than confirm.”
Littell sat perfectly still. Kemper saw his pulse hammer his shirt front.
Hoover folded his hands. “January 16, 1961, marks the twentieth anniversary of your Bureau appointment. You are to retire on that day. You are to work at the Chicago office until then. You are to remain on the CPUSA Surveillance Squad until the day you retire.”
Littell said, “Yes, Sir.”
Hoover stood up. Kemper stood a beat later, per protocol. Littell stood up too fast–his chair teetered.
“You owe your continued career and pension to Mr. Boyd, who was most persuasive in convincing me to be lenient. I expect you to repay my generosity by promising to maintain absolute silence regarding Mr. Boyd’s McClellan Committee and Kennedy family incursion. Do you promise that, Mr. Littell?”
“Yes, Sir. I do.”
Hoover walked out.
Kemper put his drawl on. “You can breathe now, son.”
o o o
The Mayflower bar featured wraparound banquettes. Kemper sat Littell down and thawed him out with a double scotch-on-the-rocks.
They bucked sleet walking over–there was no chance to talk. Ward took the thrashing better than he expected.
Kemper said, “Any regrets?”
“Not really. I was going to retire at twenty years, and the THP is a half-measure at best.”
“Are you rationalizing?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve had a…”
“Finish the thought. Don’t let me explicate for you.”
“Well… I’ve had a… taste of something very dangerous and good.”
“And you like it.”
“Yes. It’s almost as if I’ve touched a new world.”
Kemper stirred his martini. “Do you know why Mr. Hoover allowed you to remain with the Bureau?”
“Not exactly.”
“I convinced him that you were volatile, irrational and addicted to taking heedless risks. The element of truth in that convinced him that you were better off inside the barn pissing out than outside the barn pissing in. He wanted me there to buttress the intimidation, and if he had signaled me I would have laced into you myself.”
Littell smiled. “Kemper, you’re leading me. You’re like an attorney drawing out a witness.”
“Yes, and you’re a provocative witness. Now, let me ask you a question. What do you think Pete Bondurant has planned for you?”
“My death?”
“Your postretirement death, more likely. He murdered his own brother, Ward. And his parents killed themselves when they found out. It’s a Bondurant rumor that I’ve chosen to believe.”
Littell said, “Jesus Christ.”
He was awed. It was a perfectly lucid response.
Kemper speared the olive in his glass. “Are you going to continue the work you started without Bureau sanction?”